Peeta's Reaping
by BarnumOnTheBrain
Summary: When Peeta is chosen to be the tribute for District 12, he is shocked. He is going to be put against Katniss Everdeen after being torn from his family, for the sake of the Capitol's entertainment. This is wrong. This is very wrong. The Reaping of The Hunger Games from Peeta's POV, including his goodbyes.


Effie Trinket's long fingers trailed theatrically over the thousand or so paper slips in the jar as the crowd held their breath. Her hand grasped a piece, and she withdrew it, a plastic smile upon her powdered face as the cameras trailed her every movement. She slowly opened the paper, and drew in a breath, as though exhilarated by the whole experience.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

There was a movement in the crowd, a quiet murmer of shock. In the rows and rows of children, one boy froze. He turned his face to the ground in despair and thrust his hands in his pockets. He had felt his stomach drop at the sound of the name, and glanced around quickly, looking for one face in particular. He saw the elder Everdeen sister's eyes glaze over, and he could look no more. This was wrong, this was so wrong.

Everyone's eyes followed the twelve year old girl as she walked stiffly forwards – she was the apothecary's daughter, a child of the Seam, whose father had been killed a few years ago in the mines in the worst explosion in living memory. She was the sister of the girl who hunted well, and trailed after her sometimes in the Hub. All who met her couldn't help but like her; she had a smile for everyone and an unkind word for none. Peeta had seen her often with her face plastered against the bakery glass, her eyes fixed on the pretty cakes in the window. She never got the chance to taste one.

There was a scuffling as Primrose Everdeen neared the steps to the stage, and Peeta's head shot up. Someone was crying her name, telling her to get back. Between the bodies that blocked his view from the steps, Peeta could see a whip of brown hair, and then the words that had not been spoken in an age.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

The voice was a desperate one, one that told of hardship, despair and loss. Peeta knew that voice. Katniss. His insides turned to ice. This was the girl whose life he had saved, but to whom he dared not talk. On the rare occasion that their eyes met, he chose to drop his gaze rather than approach her, and he walked away. His heart raced towards her as his feet led him away. And now she was walking away. Peeta held back the cry that twisted in his stomach, the injustice, the cruelty, the inhumanity.

She took her place on stage as tribute, and looked out at the crowd blankly, ignoring the image of her that had been projected onto screens around the square and no doubt around Panem. Effie Trinket called for applause, the smile pasted back onto her face at the idea of a tribute at last. Stony faces looked back up at her as not a single pair of hands came together. Instead, Peeta, along with the thousands gathered in the market square around her, put three fingers to his lips and raised them above his head in the silent salute of the old days. It was a salute for a friend, showing respect and admiration. It was a final symbol of love, for a lost hero. Katniss' face twitched slightly as she saw the hundreds of children, the thousands of adults, salute her one last time. She knew they were saying goodbye.

Peeta's mind clouded over. All the chances he had over the years to talk to her, to be her friend, he had wasted. Why? They could have been companions, spent hours together maybe, if only he had approached her. But he had always been afraid that her hunting friend, a boy they called Gale, was someone that she could never detach herself from. That didn't seem to matter now though, as he had lost his last chance to ever know the daughter of the man who silenced the birds with a word.

Peeta watched her face intently as Haymitch Abernathy pointed into the camera directly at the Capitol, shouting words that could be dangerous for them all, before he plummeted off the stage and landed face-first in the dust. He was known to be a heavy drinker. Katniss' smooth expression crumpled for a moment as nearly all eyes darted to Haymitch, but Peeta saw her quickly regain her composure as attention flitted back to the stage. His heart was racing at the thought of only being able to see her again on a small television screen, at the thought of her small body being brought back to the District in a wooden box. He was so focused on remembering every detail of how she stood, how her shiny hair caught the sunlight, how her hands trembled slightly as the enormity of what she had just done threatened to overcome her that he didn't have time to worry for himself. It wasn't until the lad next to him turned his ashen face towards him that he registered the name of the second tribute.

"Peeta Mellark!"

This wasn't happening. Of course it wasn't happening. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, and imagined he was in bed, warm under the covers and simply waiting for sleep to come to him. His blanket was wrapped under his chin and his body was curled up into a tight ball on his soft mattress of eiderdown after a long day of school and sweeping the bakery. He had just eaten dinner with his two brothers and parents, and they hadn't argued. It was the first night they hadn't had an argument in a long time – his mother had sold all the loaves of bread and his father's new stock had come into the store fresher than usual. His younger brother had just come the top of his class in a test. Everything was good, and he was at peace with the world. He wasn't standing on the market square on reaping day in his best clothes that his mother had flung at him, and his name certainly hadn't been pulled out. He wasn't District Twelve's tribute. He couldn't be. Not alongside her. Anyone but her.

The boy next to him gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs, and his eyes flicked open. All faces were turned to him, and his feet began dragging him towards the stage where Effie Trinket stood, a fake smile plastered to her fake face under her fake hair and fake enthusiasm. Everyone knew she'd rather be in a better District anyway.

Katniss watched him walk up the few wooden steps, noting his eyes. They were a blue sea of terror. He took his place on stage, and heard Trinket ask for any male tributes. Peeta wished she hadn't – everyone knew the baker had three sons, and after Katniss' display of family loyalty, some may have wondered if his own brother may opt to take his place. He didn't. He knew he wouldn't.

After the mayor read the customary Treaty of Treason, he gestured to Peeta and Katniss to shake hands. Despite his fear, Peeta felt a jolt in his stomach at the touch of her skin as she took his hand in her own. They were icy. He wished he could thaw her out.

Peeta sat in the small room, awaiting his final goodbyes. Outside, he could hear the voices of the Peacekeepers who guarded his room. They seemed cheerful enough, but then they would. They weren't about to be sent into an arena with 23 others who want nothing more than the cease of his pulse. And that was it. That was how he was going to die. Not surrounded by his family who would hold his hand until the end, not with a wife with whom he had aged by his bedside, not even in a tragic accident. He would die as he lived – nothing more than an insignificant tool of the Capitol. Hot tears began to spill down his cheek as he thought of the future that had been ripped from him, and the knowledge that if she died, her family would surely starve. What if he had to kill her? What if, after the entire games, it came down to the two of them? Would he kill her? Could he? No. No, he couldn't. He _wouldn't. _But would she? Probably. If it were down to his life of theirs, of course she would choose them. Then she could go home to Gale and start the life she deserved, while his body rotted in a wooden coffin alongside the countless others who perished in the Capitol's thirst for blood, suffering and amusement.

He was gazing out of the window over the market square when they came in quietly. He quickly wiped his eyes and turned to them, away from the grimy window and faced his family. His mother, a tall woman with hair scraped into a fierce bun stood in front of his kind-faced father. She didn't move towards him.

"What?" he asked bitterly, resenting her accusing eyes. "I was chosen, yes. My name was only in there due to my age. I didn't take out any tesserae, so I can't be blamed for this."

"No one's blaming you for anything, son," his father said gently, taking a step forwards to him. "This is not your fault."

Peeta looked at his father. This would be the last time he ever saw him. The thought of never seeing the man who had been so central in his life broke him. Before he knew it, he had stumbled into his father's arms, sobs racking his chest. He couldn't let this man go, not the man who had taught him how to read, how to write, how to laugh and how to make a living. His father had brought him more joy than anything else in the world, and now he was expected to tear himself away? They might as well have asked him to slash his own arm off. His father held him tight in his arms, letting hot tears spill into his hair as Peeta's two brothers stood either side of them, pulling them into an embrace that would once have protected Peeta from any dangers and made him feel safe. As they pulled away from him at last, he had never felt so alone.

His mother tutted when she saw his red eyes. "Can't you suck it up, just for once?" she asked, throwing her hands into the air angrily.

"Suck it up?" Peeta repeated incredulously, his voice cracking. He knew his mother thought little of him, but he didn't realise it was to such an extent. "I'm about to be sent to my death, Mother, and all you can say is 'suck it up'?"

"If you bothered to pull your weight for once, instead of lazing about, you might have an actual chance at this thing, Peeta!" she replied furiously. Her husband stepped forwards to calm her, but she pushed him away. "If you die, it's no one's fault but your own!"

"Mother, you don't mean that," Peeta's elder brother said quietly from behind her. "This is not Peeta's fault. We all know that this is not his doing, and nothing can be done about it."

"He could at least try to win for us!" his mother retorted. "But he shan't bother, shall he? He'll just whimper about the arena and wait to be destroyed, because he sure won't have us to save him!"

"I don't want to kill someone!" Peeta yelled at her, his fear suddenly boiling into anger at his mother. For years and years, she told him how incompetent he was, how useless a son he was, and now, when he was about to be sent to battle to the death, all she could think about was his inadequacies, and it enraged him. "I'm being sent into this as property of the Capitol, the people of which think seeing me die is entertainment! My life is being put at risk because of something that happened decades ago, and I'm going to be destroyed for the sake of television! How do you think that makes me feel? And so I don't need you coming in here to tell me that I'm going to die, when I know it for myself!"

"At least we might actually have a victor this year," she said hotly, "in the form of that hunter girl, rather than a spoilt little brat like you!"

The Peacekeepers that were guarding the room walked quickly through the door and took hold of his mother. "You're making a disturbance, Mrs Mellark, we require you to leave the building." She walked stoutly from the room without giving him a second glance, and the door slammed back behind her.

"She doesn't mean that," his father said soothingly as Peeta buried his face into his shoulder, staining the fabric with salty tears. After a moment, he swallowed and pulled away, turning to face his two brothers.

"Look, this may be the last time I ever see you all," he began, his voice threatening to give way at any moment, "and I have to tell you this now."

His brothers and father stood silently, their faces pained. They knew this could be their last goodbye.

Peeta took a deep breath and began. "Ever since I was a kid, I've known people who have grown up without fathers, without brothers, without a real family. They've suffered, starved and never known happiness. Because of you three, I've never had to know any of that. You have all been my guides and my friends, making days that would otherwise be insufferable bearable. You brought me more happiness than I could have ever hoped for, and if I die in this thing, I want you to all know how much I love you."

"We love you too, Peeta," his elder brother replied quietly, his hands behind his back. He was quiet most of the time, allowing others to speak and just listened himself. He was wiser than any teacher Peeta had known. "You're the kind of brother that people wish they had. You'll get out of this thing alive, you'll figure out a way. Just pick out your strength and play to it. Failing that, pick out your weakness and hope that the crowds will love you for it, it could be your saving grace."

"My weakness?" Peeta replied, taken off-guard for a moment. He had expected an emotional goodbye, not words of advice. He was grateful, nonetheless.

"Katniss," his younger brother said. Peeta's insides twinged at her name. It was that obvious, huh? "But Peeta, even if things don't… go too well in there, we'll always be there. Although you won't be able to see us, we'll see you, so we'll kind of still be together, right?"

Peeta managed a weak smile. "Right. Brothers until the end."

"And beyond even the end," he replied with a grin.

But before Peeta could say any more, the Peacekeepers burst into the room. "Time's up," they barked, hustling the family towards the door. "Time to get going."

"Please, just five minutes more?" Peeta said, suddenly alarmed. He had not said what he wanted to say yet, surely his time couldn't be up yet? His father tried to resist them for a moment, breaking free for a second and striding back to Peeta. He pulled him into one last embrace before the officials roughtly grabbed the baker and dragged him from his son.

"No, Father!" Peeta yelled as one Peacekeeper held him in a vice-like grip whilst another wrenched his father from the room. "FATHER!"

"Remember, your mother loves you Peeta, we all do!" he called back, already out of sight with his other two sons. "Be strong, son!"

"FATHER!" Peeta bellowed, doubling over as he felt something inside of him rip, trying to follow his family back home to the warm bakery where he belong. "Don't leave me!"

The doors were slammed shut on him, and Peeta was left alone. His gut-wrenching howls echoed in the room as he was left with the thought that he would probably never see his family again. His brothers would never really know how much they had done for him, his father would never hear of how he never wanted to be anyone but his son. His mother would never hear him tell her he loved her.

He was totally alone. The girl he barely loved was next door, seeing him as either pray or predator, whilst the rest of his world saw him as nothing more than a piece in this annual game of fate, and he had been torn from his family. Already, he was at a disadvantage in the competition. Already, he was broken.

But he swore to himself, as his fate dawned on him, that if he could not be saved, at least she could. If his life was being stripped of all other meaning, he would devote what was left of it to her. She alone would remain standing, at any cost.


End file.
